I’m at the end of a diving board bouncing. The pool I’m jumping into, well, I’m not really sure what it’s filled with but the plunge seems inevitable. It’s like waiting for an app to open in a room with low wi-fi. I’m anxiously frustrated. Why won’t it load??
Alan and I live close to a railroad. Nightly, the train chugs by, its distant whistle sounds of deep nostalgia. I’m ten, lying in a twin-size bed, ornate white iron head and foot boards. There’s two other twin beds in the room, one might be a cot, my brother sleeps there. I always sleep in the pretty bed by the window. A single street light beams in through the huge glass rectangle, no panes, I’m not even sure it opens. I can see the fuzzy edges of the leaves from the gingko tree in the front yard that drops bulbs that smell of puke. This is Grandmommy Jo’s house, my mother’s mother, we spent summers climbing the branches of that tree, trying not to step on the stink bombs. The train whistle trills in the distance.
I’m 40 and I hear it. My body is much longer and heavier now and I’m lying next to the man I love. But it’s the same whistle. If I close my eyes and listen, it takes no effort to conjure the view from that little bed. The veil is so thin between now and then sometimes it’s as if it doesn’t even exist. I am 10 years old when I hear the train. Everything is cozy. I wonder what’s in the cork topped glass bottles at the back of Grandmommy’s cupboard and who ate all the caramel popcorn out of the three variety tin. I’m worried about the greenhouse turned storage unit in the backyard. It’s always damp and warm in there and there are spiders but it seems like something from The Secret Garden so I peek in every time we visit. Pretending I’m discovering something, looking for a rusty keyhole.
The bamboo forest is weird. What’s it doing here? Are there pandas in South Carolina? There’s a huge metal gas tank and a creaky silver and blue swing set, I imagine it’s the same one that took a chunk out of the tip of my mother’s middle finger when she was 10. It’s been shorter since, the same length as her index. Grandmommy’s backyard is always hot unless it’s Christmas and then we’re only there for a day. Driving up and back to open presents and eat, I listen to Ace of Base on my portable CD player, headphones on both ways of the journey. As I stare out the window, I’m riding a horse, jumping over every guardrail and galloping up every hill.
Back in my apartment, I’m sitting on a chair that creaks and whines with every tiny movement I make. This is where I do most of my writing. It’s not comfortable but it used to be at the round kitchen table in Grandmommy Jo’s kitchen. It faced the antique telephone that hung on the wall, the kind with the handheld earphone and a crank. Everything in her house was creaky and made of wood. It was warm, like a hug and I loved it. Probably why I sit in this rickety chair now. Deep nostalgia.
Lately, I’ve found myself wondering what all of this is for. Not in a heavy or depressed way, I’m genuinely curious. Writing and recording and editing and publishing and promoting, feels like all this time devoted to creating should be for something, motivated. And I suppose it is. I’m not going to pretend like I wouldn’t love to pay my bills through the time I spend here but I also wonder if that’s little me wishing I could have a barn full of horses in my front yard. My connection to my younger self has felt so strong these days.
Does there always have to be a motive? This is the first time in my life I’ve written consistently and followed through on deep creative fantasies. I’ve been gentle and kind to myself, laughed at the imperfections of everything I’ve shared and reveled in the joy I hope it conveys. I’ve had a slow trickle of growth, new readers who seem to be sticking around. It feels incredibly special and a little foreign when I really think about it. In my mind I’m always here writing to my mother, it only vaguely occurs to me that people I’ve never met are reading. (Hi!) To imagine supporting myself through my Substack is to imagine almost 12,000 people subscribing. That. Is terrifying. And so I wonder again, what’s it all for?
I do know that nothing stays the same. Evolution constantly unfolds. It takes time. Sometimes so long you have to remind yourself that the season has changed, you’re no longer your old self. You’ve already leapt off the diving board. The app has loaded and you’re exploring the new features.
I’m having such a good time making the podcast and the videos and writing to you every week. It feels like a burden to think too far ahead. To assign any expectations to why I’m putting in so much effort. Who cares??
I’ll always be a daydreamer gazing out the window riding a horse up a hill. I didn’t look forward to climbing the stinky tree or begging to go to the barn because I wondered where it would get me or why I loved it. I simply wanted to do it. Pure desire.
I’d like to reconnect to pure desire and create from there. Simply because it feels good. Because I just want to. No further motive necessary. In 30 years from now, when I hear the train whistle in the distance, I’ll picture these moments just as clearly as the summers and nights at Grandmommy Jo’s. The creakiness of this chair. Our little apartment in Decatur. The feeling of standing on the edge of something unknown and being excited about it with nothing but hope.
It is March. Let the year begin.
READING
Maybe, Baby, my favorite Substack, is back this week with an update from the other side of maternity leave. I love her writing. It’s so honest and concise. I very seriously welled-up and cried a little… or a lot (Alan asked if I was okay…) Anyway, read Like a Mother here.
WATCHING
We’re into Season 4 of Succession. Okay so, I don’t know WHAT I was doing the first time I watched this but it’s like I’ve never seen it before in my life. It’s so ruthless and hilarious. Absolutely loving it.
LISTENING
Lady Farmer’s latest podcast. I love these women dearly and really enjoyed their latest chat on slow-living and manifestation. Find The Good Dirt here. And they’re on Substack now! Definitely check it out as their Slow Living Challenge starts today!!
Thank you so much for being here, for reading my words. I’m so freaking excited for Spring and longer daylight. I feel so ready to break out of the winter cocoon and DO STUFF. Do you?
We’re seeing Dune 2 tomorrow at the theater with recliners and heated seats. This will be a treat after my SECOND mammogram tomorrow. Apparently this is quite normal for your first boob smash and also there were technical issues with the one I got last month. Don’t love it…but…this is 40.
Have a wonderful first week of March! This is when the fun starts.
xoxo.
The sounds of trains haunt me for the most wonderful reasons...great post today, Boo. It took me back to my Papa and Suffolk when I was 10!